By Mary Kleinsmith
BUC252@aol.com
 

Category: Post-ep. MT, big time. A bit o' SA, too
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Ice
Summary: With DeSilva cured and the placed demolished, the case isn't quite
over yet
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, and any other characters you recognize don't
belong to me. The medical personnel do, however. Even so, I'm not making any
money on this, and no infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: This was written for ATF's "Ice" challenge, but it took me a
week or two (or more <g>)longer to finish it than I'd anticipated. Sorry for
that. Thank you to Laura, Mindy, and Jenn, for encouraging and not giving up
on me, even when I was ready to give up on myself. Gratitude also to Mindy
and Vickie for the betas.
Feedback: Yes, please please please?
 

Guilt on Ice
By Mary Kleinsmith BUC252@aol.com

Scully watched in fascination as they rolled DeSilva towards the ambulance.
After a brief discussion, Hodge left, rushing to reach her side, she was
certain.

"I hope she's all right," she said to Mulder beside her as they walked
towards the police cruiser. "Did you know they were together?"

"No," Mulder responded briefly, and she worried that he was still upset with
her over locking him in the closet for a day. She really couldn't blame him.

"She was wearing a ring, so I asked her while we were doing our examinations.
The wedding is in two months."

All the reaction she got was silence.

"C'mon, Mulder! If you're angry with me, just say it. Shout, scream,
whatever. This isn't the way . . ."

As she spun on her partner where he'd lagged behind her, ready to take him to
task for his attitude, she found his expression vacant, his mouth slack.

By the time she reached for him, he was sliding to the icy pavement.

"Mulder!"

Kneeling in the freezing snow, she reached glove-covered hands to his face,
but there was no response. Her partner was out cold.

"C'mon, Mulder. It's over, we can go home! No time to nap."

She was torn between the idea of checking him out and knowing how dangerous
it would be to remove her gloves in the sub-zero temperatures. Only moments
later, her selfishness struck her.

Ripping the gloves from her hands and tossing them into the snow, she reached
for him. Simultaneously, a police officer raced to the pair, alerted by her
surprised scream. He was calling into his radio for a second ambulance before
she could request his help.

"Dr. Scully?" he asked, having been well-informed of her credentials.

"He just passed out," she said. "I need to check his vitals."

Heartbeat and breathing were okay, but nothing would bring him around.
Moments later, faster than she would have thought possible, the ambulance
arrived.
Even the smelling salts a paramedic named Jackson produced couldn't bring
around the fallen agent.

"I'd better get a gurney," he said, rising.

Returning with the bed and his partner in tow, the medic bent to where Scully
was feeling the ultimate helplessness.

"Why don't you take his feet," Jackson offered, somehow knowing what she was
going through. Before long, Mulder was bundled into the rolling bed and being
put into the ambulance.

She hastily climbed in behind him, the medics seeing no reason to restrict
her presence. Once inside and on their way, they took more time to remove
Mulder's outer layer of clothes and check his injuries.

"What happened?" Jackson asked her. He was a friendly dark-skinned man with
an easy, comforting smile.

"I'm not sure," she responded honestly. "It's been a long few days - maybe
it's exhaustion." She _hoped_ it was as simple as that.

"It's not exhaustion," the other medic, amusingly enough named Johnson,
stated seriously. She was Jackson's opposite in every way, despite the
similarity
in their names. Young, very fair, and perhaps a bit overly serious.

"What did you find?" Scully asked in shock. Mulder had to be okay. It was
the way they worked.

"Well, for starters," Johnson said. "He's got a hell of a bump on the back
of his head. You don't know where this came from?"

"It must be from yesterday - one of the . . ." She swallowed deeply, flashing
back to the blood and death. "One of the victims hit Mulder over the head
with a glass jar. He seemed okay, though, and with everything else going on, I
didn't think to check him."

"If the situation was tumultuous, it could be that the adrenaline was the
only thing keeping him going," Jackson suggested as he re-checked Mulder's pupil
response, to which Scully only nodded.

"There are minor lumps on the side of his head, too," Johnson commented, her
fingers probing through Mulder's brown strands. They looked unusually dark
against the chalk-like pallor of his face.

"Just before the evacuation team showed up, there was a fight. I could only
hear it, as they'd locked me in a closet, but it didn't sound like he was
winning," she grimaced, remembering the sounds she could even hear over the
clanging of her efforts to escape.

"It probably aggravated the previously-existing injury," Jackson said. He
could function with the first, but for only a short time after the second." The
blood pressure cuff he'd put around Mulder's arm hissed in the moment of
silence while he read the gauge.

"He just held it together long enough to be sure everyone else was okay,"
Scully said in wonder, reaching out to touch Mulder's hand. This man's capacity
to put the other person or people first amazed her.

"Still, it's odd that he never lost consciousness before. He didn't do
anything that made you think he was hurt?" Johnson's tone was suspicious, and
Scully fought not to get defensive. She'd done what was necessary.

"No, but he was segregated from the rest of us most of the time."

"Segregated how?"

"We suspected that he'd developed the same . . . condition . . . that the
other victims had, and feared his becoming violent and dangerous. The decision
was made to confine him in a locked room."

"How long was he in there?" Johnson asked.

She felt like she was being interrogated. "About twenty hours."

"Weren't you worried that, if he was violent, he could turn that violence on
himself?"

It was something that hadn't occurred to her. Mulder could have hurt himself
in that tiny room, and they wouldn't have known until he was too far gone to
help. It had happened with the last two survivors of the original expedition;
what made her think it couldn't happen to Mulder?

The medics seemed to understand her turmoil, because they interrupted their
interrogation to do a full check of the patient's vitals, which gave Scully a
couple minutes to think. It was too long for her own good.

"How was he when you took him food and when he was allowed to go to the
bathroom?" Jackson questioned. "Did he seem out of it at all? Had he slept?"

At his questions, the latent sense of guilt she'd been feeling broke through
full force, and Dr. Dana Scully wished in stunned shock that she could find a
place to hide. Twenty hours he was in that tiny storage room with nobody to
keep him company, and amid everything else, she'd never once thought of
bringing him food or water, or of allowing him the dignity of using the
facilities.
She hadn't even checked on him so that he could remind her of the need. He
was her partner, she was supposed to watch his back. Lot of good she'd done
him today, she thought, self-disparagingly.

"Dr. Scully?" Jackson asked, shaking her shoulder.

"I . . ." Her voice caught and she cleared her throat. "We forgot . . ."

Her admission was interrupted by the young blonde medic, whose tone was
accusing. "He hasn't eaten in almost a day?" she asked, astonished. "You're a
doctor. You should know the possibilities! He could have had a subdural
hematoma. He could have gone comatose while he was left in that room."

As much as Johnson beat up Scully, it couldn't surpass the level of
punishment she was heaping on herself. The medic was absolutely correct, and
Scully had been selfish not to have seen it.

Jackson, older and wiser, was also more compassionate. "Take it easy,
Gretchen. You haven't graduated medical school yet, so let's just get him to
the hospital."

Nodding her head and biting her bottom lip as if she now realized she may
have been more outspoken than was proper, Johnson turned her attention back to
the patient.

"Sorry about her - she gets a little attached. She cares, which is hard in
this business, but she's going to make a hell of a doctor some day."

"She was right," Scully said, her voice barely above a whisper, whether from
shame or sadness, she wasn't sure. Her eyes were unwaveringly locked on her
unconscious partner and she was helpless to drag them away.

"What?"

"She's right. I was so caught up in the fantastic nature of the case that I
neglected to perform my first duty - to take care of my partner. I knew he'd
received a blow to the head and failed to check on him, and I left him in that
room without . . ." Her voice caught again. This was all so new to her yet,
but it was no excuse. She'd forgotten him, but she promised that it would be
the last time she failed him.

Still lost in her self-disparagement, Scully didn't realized they'd arrived
at the hospital until the rear doors were yanked open.

XXXXX

"Ambulance is pulling up now," Chief Resident Jacob Quail said to his
assembled team. It was a call to arms they didn't get very often in the wilds
of the arctic. An Air Force hospital with a mere two dozen rooms, most of their
time was put towards minor injuries, births, and ailments among the soldiers and
their families who were stationed on the base.

This one was going to be different. The crew had radioed en route, and the
nurse who was the only staff kept in the ER 24/7 called the team from all areas
of the hospital, making sure they had all the pertinent facts. 32-year-old
male, agent with the FBI, unconscious from what appeared to be multiple blows
to the head.

"Lesley," he said, addressing the young physician's assistant, "I need you to
get him hooked up to an EEG machine. Simon, I need vitals, and fast, then
take blood and get it to the lab." Simon was the only male nurse in the
hospital, but he reveled in the work, thus gaining the trust of the doctors
there.

"IV?"

"Yeah, but make it saline with lactose ringers. Reports are he's dehydrated
and hasn't eaten in a couple days, so that'll help without skewing his
readouts." Peering into the darkness of night, he spied the gurney before the
doors slid aside to allow its entrance.

Despite the lack of practice, they moved the gurney fluidly through the small
waiting room and into the treatment area. Normally used for putting in
stitches or wrapping sprains, it was cramped for this purpose.

"Still no response to external stimuli of any kind," the paramedic named
Jackson advised.

"How long has he been out?"

"According to his partner, he collapsed approximately sixty minutes ago. The
head injuries were incurred between two hours and two days ago, but they were
quarantined by the storm as well as by the law. She indicated that he was
struck with a blunt object on the back of his head, and received the other
injuries in a fight."

"She?"

He smiled, motioning toward the room behind them. "She's out there. Little
redhead, but watch yourself. She's a doctor and she won't take any crap."

"Wolf in sheep's clothing, huh?" he smiled.

"She's a doctor and an FBI agent, Doc. What do you think?"

"I think I'd better be very careful to do this right," Quail chuckled,
turning his attention back to the patient. After examining him thoroughly and
finding no other injuries, he stood back with a sigh.

"Let's get him down to x-ray for a full skull series, but stay close in case
he shows signs of awakening. Tell the technician to expedite results. If
he's in trouble, I want to know it now, not in an hour."

As the gurney was rolled out, Jacob turned to Lesley and Simon. "When he
gets back, if he's still unconscious, I want a pressure monitor inserted."

"You're worried about a subdural hematoma?"

"It's a definite possibility, so I want to know the second one starts
developing. If it hasn't already," he added grimly.

"I'll arrange for a room in the ICU," Simon said, and Quail found himself
feeling grateful that his people knew their jobs so very well.

"Thanks. I'm going to get a coffee, then I'll talk to his partner."

As he walked away, Simon smiled at his retreating back. "Better watch
yourself, Doc. I hear those agents are trained to kill."

"Maybe I should take her a cup of coffee, too."

A short time later, Quail found the diminutive federal agent sitting on the
edge of her seat with her hands clenched in her lap. If she'd been reading or
doing anything else while she waited, there was no sign of it.

"Agent Scully?"

"Yes, how is Mulder?"

"I'm Dr. Jacob Quail," he said first, extending a hand. She shook it solidly
but quickly, obviously getting the pleasantries out of the way. He saw no
need to torture her. "I'm sorry, but I really don't have a lot to tell you at
the moment. Agent Mulder is still unconscious, and he's in X-ray at the
moment. Once we get the films, we should have a better idea what's happening
with him."

"Do you suspect a hematoma?"

"It's a distinct possibility, and I've ordered a pressure monitor if he's
still out by the time we get him in his room. It could just be a matter of his
needing the rest in order to heal. The human body is a remarkable thing, Agent
Scully."

"I know - I'm a physician myself."

"Yes, I was told. May I ask your specialty?"

"I'm a pathologist," she said, blushing slightly. "I know that doesn't make
me an expert in treating a patient."

"No, but it does make you a good person to have around," he smiled.

"Yes, I think he's found it a bit handy. And I've had enough practice on
live patients not to get out of touch. But this one . . ." Her voice tapered
off, her eyes returning to her hands.

"This is one you can't fix, right?"

"Yes."

"I know the feeling. It's always frustrating when you can't make it better,
especially if it's for someone you care about."

Scully nodded, looking again to the doctor's kind face. "Once you get him
settled, can I sit with him?"

"Of course. Actually, it'll be doing us a favor. We're not a big facility,
and the staff is very limited. You can help us by keeping an eye on him."

Scully smiled at him, and he noticed how lovely she was when she relaxed.
"I'd be happy to."

"With such special care, how can he help but get better?"

XXXXXXXXXX
 

Eight hours later, Scully was awoken by a gentle hand on her shoulder. She
hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep, and felt a bit lost.

"How long?"

"You've only been asleep for a few hours, Agent Scully, don't worry."

As her bleary eyed focused, her mind cleared, her memory returning.

"Mulder!" She jumped up, drawing as close to the bed as possible, but her
partner slumbered on.

"He's fine," a kindly, white-frocked woman assured her.

"But what if he woke up while I was asleep? I'm supposed to be watching out
for him."

"Dana . . . may I call you Dana?"

Scully nodded distractedly.

"Dana, with this type of head injury, you know what the affects are. You
should take care of yourself now, because it's going to be quite some time
before he wakes."

"But what if . . ."

"You need to eat. And you need to sleep lying down, not sitting up in a
chair. He'll be out for . . ."

"What's a guy gotta do to get some quiet around here," a weak voice mumbled,
nearly unnoticed by the nurse, but heard loud and clear by Scully. She turned
on him in an instant.

"Mulder!" she nearly shrieked, causing him to wince visibly. It was a
typical Mulder remark, but the sense of relief it caused ran through her like a
tidal wave. The blows he'd taken had apparently not scrambled his brain too
badly.

"Could you move the party to another room, please? My head's killin' me."

Mulder raised two hands to his temples, pressing in with his palms as if
trying to keep what was inside from bursting out. His eyes were screwed shut,
creating deep wrinkles around them.

"Oh, no you don't," the nurse said, leaping to his side before he could curl
into a fetal position. It was clear he was headed that direction. "We can't
have you pulling on your monitor leads." She pushed him back to a reclining
position, using both hands to gently guide his head back onto the pillow. His
eyes, no longer crinkled, remained closed.

"Scully?"

"I'm here, Mulder," she said.

"Okay?"

"I'm fine, don't worry. Just take it easy."

Mulder's fingers remained at his temples, pressing less intensely now,
although the pain couldn't have lessened. He was just adapting, she realized.
His thumbs brushing something he recognized as foreign drew his attention, groggy
as it seemed.

"Wa's this?"

"It's monitoring your inter-cranial pressure, Mulder. The doctors are
worried about a hematoma." Rather than being concerned, he lay motionless, and
she wondered if he'd fallen asleep until he whispered through clenched teeth.

"Feel sick . . ."

"Just take it easy," she said, taking the nurse's place beside the bed and
stroking his forehead as the lines there smoothed.

"How bad?"

She'd thought he was asleep again until he asked the question. "It could be
worse. You have a definite severe concussion, and a hairline skull fracture.
Beyond that, the key is staying calm, following the doctor's and nurse's
orders, and getting as much rest as you can."

"'Kay," he muttered. "Water? So thirsty . . ."

The comment, made in total innocence and under considerable pain, hit Scully
like a blow to the stomach. _She_ was the reason he was so thirsty. _She_
was the reason he'd be starving, too, if he wasn't already nauseous from his
head injury. And, mostly, _she_ was responsible for his not having received
treatment more promptly - maybe before it could have been compounded by the
fight with Hodge.

She knew she was reacting illogically, but the little voice inside her kept
up its accusing diatribe. Her head told her there was little else she could
have done, but her heart felt her betrayal of his trust in her. She'd helped
them lock him in that little room - with no food, no water, and no
"accommodations" - without giving him a subsequent thought until almost a day
later.

"I'm sorry, Mulder," she whispered, helping him to a large sip of water. He
lay back with a sigh, his forehead again crinkled in pain, so she repeated her
stroking of a few minutes before until the frown disappeared and his breath
evened out.

"You're better than a sedative," the nurse smiled at her. "If he seems to
need something else, though, just buzz me." Picking up her tray, she left the
two of them alone.

"Is she gone?" The whisper came so quietly, she almost didn't hear it.

"Yes, and you're supposed to be resting," she chastised him, feeling a
certain affection for this rogue agent.

"Head hurts too much," he said simply, causing her to frown.

"Why didn't you say something before the nurse left? There are painkillers,
you don't have to suffer."

"I'd rather suffer than take the painkillers," he responded cryptically. He
rolled onto his side, clutching his temples again. "Oh, God! Maybe that
wasn't the best choice."

Eyes clenched shut, Mulder panted deeply.

"Just take it easy." Before she knew it, she was on her feet again. "Lay
back and open your eyes, I want to take a look." She felt herself switching
from concerned-partner mode to doctor mode.

"Not sure I can," he mumbled, rolling back, his eyes clenched tight.

Touching him as gently as she could, she pulled back an eyelid, evaluating
pupil reaction, before moving on to the other. Then, resting a hand on his
cheek, she took in the reading on the sub-dural pressure monitor. Gratefully,
they seemed to be the same as they'd been all along.

"I think you should reconsider the medication, Mulder. You're in no danger,
but the strain on you could become dangerous."

"Maybe if the lights were off," he said quietly. "It didn't hurt this bad in
the closet."

"In the closet, you weren't suffering from the affects of the fight you had
with Hodge, either," she said. The closet came to mind again. "Mulder, I'm
really sorry about what we did to you."

"Hey, no big deal," he responded. "I've been meaning to give fasting a try
anyway." He attempted a grin, but didn't succeed.

"Seriously, Mulder . . ."

"Scully, it's okay. We were all a bit . . . distracted . . . with the
circumstances."

"I just didn't think . . ."

"You did what you felt you had to. I can't fault you for that."

Bowing her head, she accepted his forgiveness.

"Next time, though?"

"Yeah?"

"Next time, could you maybe lock me in a bathroom?"

Scully couldn't stop the chuckle, and Mulder even managed a weak one. That
alone told her he was going to be okay. "You didn't . . ."

Mulder chuckled again. "Let's just say it's a good thing they bulldozed the
place. Otherwise, they probably wouldn't appreciate the condition of one
corner of the storage room." He smiled at her.

"I'll bet," she smiled back, then sobered. "I really am sorry, Mulder."

"And it really _is_ okay, Scully."

She noticed that he seemed in less pain. "How're you doing now?"

"A bit better, I think," he said, his eyelids drooping. "It helps to talk -
it's a diversion."

"Do you think you can get some sleep?" she asked, lowering her voice in case
he already was.

"Maybe for awhile," he mumbled, already nearly there. "Wake me when it's
time for lunch."

"I will," she whispered. With a smile, she sat down beside the bed. She'd
keep her promise, soon, Mulder would be well. She'd prove that she was worthy
of the trust he'd bestowed on her, and reassure him that he had her trust in
turn, despite the circumstances they'd overcome out on the frozen tundra.

The End